


on my knees and out of luck

by orphan_account



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Hurt, I don't know how to tag this, M/M, Sad Ending, Spoilers, i'm gonna stop writing sad shit i promise, implied thomas/newt, u have been warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2418260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas reads Newt’s note before he and Minho get to the Crank Palace and decides to shoot him right then and there. And, well, Minho’s not just gonna stand and watch Thomas kill Newt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on my knees and out of luck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coexist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coexist/gifts).



> basically thomas reads the note earlier than he did in the book and i need to write shit that isn't sad. (you'll know what i'm talking about if you read my other minewt fic here)  
> also if you want to, listen to [after the storm](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YqUsAHTUPTU) by mumford and sons, i highly recommend it (esp at the part where thomas is about to kill newt)  
> enjoy x

Thomas was sure that in his life before the Glade, he had read a handful of books, maybe some happy ones, a couple of.. classics, and yeah, maybe sad ones, too. And sure, maybe those books made him crack a smile, learn something, get inspired, or even break his heart out of the intensity of its sadness. Maybe when he read those books, he thought, “Man, I hope this never happens to me. This is the saddest thing I have ever read.”

But those trivial lines of what Thomas had thought of as ‘woeful’ now deemed mediocrity to him, after he had read Newt’s letter.

After setting foot inside the ship and realising the limp-stricken, blond boy wasn’t there, he’d presumed that it was the right time to read Newt’s letter to him. And boy, did he regret it.

As perplexed as he was, Thomas knew he couldn’t tell anybody else about it—not even Minho. _Especially_ not Minho. So when the rugged, Asian boy politely asked Thomas what it was—“Hey, Thomas, I hate to interrupt your beautiful reading time, because I’m sure you need all that knowledge, but in case you didn’t know, NEWT IS SHUCKING MISSING, YOU PILE OF KLUNK SLINTHEAD”—yeah, Thomas just decided to crumple the scant piece of paper and tuck it in his trousers as they walked towards the Crank Palace for safekeeping, so Minho doesn’t find out.

But of course, being the Keeper of the Runners, Minho _always_ has to know everything. He _always_ finds out, and that’s exactly what happened.

It didn’t take him long to put two-and-two together when Thomas raised a gun and pointed it at Newt, his knuckles white and quivering with fear. Then Thomas wept. He wept, and he wept, and he wept. And Newt did nothing but smile, his lips trembling as much as Thomas’ hands.

“Do it. Do it, Tommy,” His voice cracks as he looks at Minho, who is, at this point, in both a state of anger and bewilderment. “Minho—Minho, get out, you don’t wanna see this, get out of this.. bloody.. palace.. Get out before—”

“Before Thomas shoots your shuck face?” Minho scoffs, “Let me get this clear, Newt. _I_ have been with you for three years. Three. This.. slinthead—” He points at Thomas with disdain, “— _He_ has only been with you for 2 weeks. And you trust this shank with your life?”

The Flare-infected Glader in front of them shakes his head, hands cradling his ears in hopes of blocking those words out. He mumbles some apologies and a ‘You don’t get it, you don’t get it, you don’t get it, no’ as Minho just keeps going, flinging sarcastic comments after the other, each one laced with more contempt than the last.

Newt snaps his head up. He walks closer to Thomas, with just about a foot or so separating them. Minho has stopped talking. The cranks around the palace watch in the darkness with curiosity.

Thomas stops crying and shaking as he sees Newt’s expression falter into a somewhat melancholic one. He looks at Thomas for what he knew would be the last time, and nods; a gesture that just said it all. A simple gesture to end his sorrow, to end his friends’ sorrow. 

He closes his eyes and exhales.

A loud _bang_ resonates within the deteriorating walls of the Crank Palace that Newt has come to familiarise himself with as his home. 

A loud _bang_ that should have killed him, for crying out loud. But nothing comes.

Newt opens his eyes, something he thought he would never do again. He is met with the sight of a faded, denim polo, stained with crimson right in the middle.

And this was when Thomas knew, as he looked at Newt—the boy who had always kept his cool—cradling Minho in his scrawny arms, that _nothing_ , no book could ever beat the raw emotion that he felt at this very moment. 

Minho’s breaths were quick and ragged as he struggled to grab Newt’s shirt, which probably mingled with the spit of other Cranks, but he didn’t care. All he needed was some assurance, some kind of _home_. Some sense of belonging. And that was exactly what Newt had given him for the past three years.

Newt desperately ran his hands along Minho’s convulsing neck, trying to do something, _anything_ to save the boy underneath him. “Minho, Minho don’t! Don’t you bloody die on me, Minho!” He screams. His tears leave wet patches on his filthy cheeks and on Minho’s shirt as well.

Suddenly, he feels Minho’s breathing lower to a calm, steady beat—as steady as it could get, given the fact that he was, in fact, dying. Newt’s face is smothered with the warm touch, and familiar roughness of Minho’s hands. Minho smiles and says, “Hey, Crank.”

He doesn’t respond.

Minho’s digits thread through the blond boy’s hair, which glistened with the evident lack of hygiene. Nonetheless, he still thought his hair was beautiful. “Y’know, I’ve always.. liked your hair. It’s weird, but it’s true. I like your hair.” He tries to laugh, but it just ends up in a fit of coughs, and blood streaming down his lips in a thick, parted line.

“I love your hair, I loved putting flowers in them when you slept, I loved the way it ended up in a mess when you woke up, even though I admit it kinda resembled a pile of klunk.” Newt looks at Minho with bloodshot eyes, cracking a small smile for a split second. And even if it was, to others, a fleeting moment, to Minho, it was tattooed on his mind. Even with the few minutes, maybe even seconds he’s got left, he knows he’ll never forget that smile, even after he’s breathed his last.

“I loved getting breakfast for you, I loved looking at your eyes because when I do, I felt as if there was hope of us getting out, and I love seeing you smile even with that shuck face of yours, but Newt, Newt I loved you—and I still do. I love you,” Minho’s voice cracks as he starts crying as well. He looks at Newt in the eye and continues, “I love you.”

Newt gulps. For a moment, it was only them gazing at each other, memorising each other, thinking about each other. For an ephemerality, there was no Maze, no Glade, no Trials of any sort. There were no such thing as Cranks, or the Flare, or the Scorch. There was only Newt and Minho, and they loved each other.

Newt leans down, and kisses Minho’s nose. Then he nudges it with his own, a genuine smile grazing his lips, and Minho’s, too.

“I love you,” Minho says again, as if he’s proud to be able to say it.

Newt kisses Minho’s forehead, lingering there for a while, before his nose brushes against Minho’s again. “I love you.” Minho smiles warmly at Newt, because Newt is his. And he doesn’t know when or where they’re gonna meet—maybe in a few years, a few weeks, a few days, who knows?—all that matters is that they’re going to find a way back to each other, and they’d cross paths again, just like they did the first time he stepped out of that creaking, metal box and saw a scrawny boy who, with just one look, gave him some kind of home.

“I love you.” 

Minho’s last words were a whisper on Newt’s lips.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not even sorry x


End file.
